Anomaly

The engines roared without pause, their constant rumbling reverberating through the metallic hull. Every slight jolt made my body tremble in the seat, but I barely noticed. My eyes—glowing in a way that was almost unnatural—remained fixed on the view outside.
Through the only window within my reach, the vast ocean stretched as far as I could see, an endless blue expanse rolling beneath the pale, gray sky.
I was never exactly a fan of going to the beach back when I was still human. Not that I disliked it—far from it—but I was always the type who only went because someone dragged me along. The beach was rarely my idea, much less a place I’d ever suggest for a date.
It’s not that I hated it or had any kind of trauma tied to it; I just didn’t think about it often, even though I technically lived only a few miles away from one. There was always this feeling that the world of sun, warm sand, and breaking waves belonged more to other people than to me.
Because of that, I rarely saw the ocean—at least not the way I’m seeing it now. Even when I did go to the beach, I almost never swam; at most, I’d let the cold water touch my feet before heading back to the warm sand. It wasn’t fear or any real aversion to water... I just, somehow, didn’t like it.
But setting aside my rambling about the past—which, honestly, I’m not even sure is real—I was inside some kind of aircraft. A plane? A helicopter? In truth, it felt like a mix of both, with a discreetly futuristic touch.
Even though the organization’s technology was far more advanced than the rest of the world’s, I couldn’t help the brief surprise I felt when I first saw the vehicle we’d be using for this mission. The fuselage looked freshly polished, and glowing light panels ran along the sides with a soft shimmer.
It was oddly comfortable inside and, at the same time, according to Emily, had impressive defenses. The metal also seemed special somehow—she didn’t go into detail, only mentioned it could supposedly withstand the impact of a small asteroid. It sounded like an exaggeration to me, of course, but who was I to doubt her?
By the way, Emily and Laura weren’t on board—and while the reason was fairly obvious, it still weighed on me a little. They would only get in the way, and both of them knew that. So they didn’t even bring it up; they simply offered us some moral support.
Not that the others don’t do that too, but at least this way I don’t have to worry about the well-being of so many people at once—which, for me, is already a considerable relief.
On this “mission” so to speak, were Victor, Arthur, and Rupert. Besides the three of them, there were a few other members of the response team—unfamiliar faces, people I’d never exchanged more than a quick glance with, and definitely no one I cared enough about to remember the name of.
Curiously, Rupert didn’t bring his squad this time. I don’t know the exact reason, but everything suggested it was a last-minute decision.
“Doesn’t look like this weather’s clearing up anytime soon” Victor commented to my left. His eyes stayed fixed on the storm outside.
Arthur gave a faint, sideways smile at Victor’s words, his eyes fixed on the windows that looked out into the world beyond as he spun his cane in slow, almost elegant movements.
“If this were just an ordinary storm...” Arthur murmured, his voice low but still perfectly audible to me.
I studied Arthur’s expression for a few moments before turning my eyes back to the view outside. I can’t quite explain why, but the moment we crossed a certain region of the ocean, a storm simply formed — fast, abrupt, without any apparent logic. And ever since, it has only grown stronger as we move forward.
Of course, even though it technically seemed like something that appeared out of nowhere, I knew the real reason — and from the looks of it, Arthur did as well. With my “sight” I managed to make out faint, nearly invisible strands stretching far into the distance, disappearing into the depths of the ocean, like threads pulling the storm itself toward that specific point.
I’m not entirely sure where we’re going; the initial goal was just to explore the surroundings. Still, the farther we went, the stronger the feeling became that something on the horizon was calling to me, like an invisible pull guiding my direction. When I mentioned it to Victor and Arthur, they didn’t hesitate—they immediately told the others which way we should head.
Rupert, on the other hand, just stared with almost comical disbelief, saying he hadn’t even written a memorial letter in case he died, because he never imagined we’d risk this much. And although I did feel a tiny bit of sympathy for him, it definitely wasn’t enough to make me hesitate.
The energy I felt was deeply nostalgic—that much I was sure of. There was something unmistakable about it, something that could only come from one of my sisters. And, as Althea and Eryanis had suggested, everything pointed to Tenebrya.
“Setting aside the fact that we’re headed straight toward a near-certain death, stuck in a flying tin can shaking in the middle of an obviously unnatural storm” Rupert began, sarcasm dripping from every word while his expression stayed oddly calm—almost bored—despite the disaster he was describing: “am I the only one who finds it weird that we just abandoned the original plan? We’re not even properly equipped for this”
Before anyone could say anything, I spoke up, my voice steady despite the tension around us: Don’t worry. I’ll protect all of you, as long as you stay inside.
Rupert, who heard my words, turned toward me. A faint, ironic smile tugged at his lips before he murmured, almost casually: “Sounds promising”
I ignored the sarcasm in his voice and went back to watching what was happening outside. In fact, ever since we left the base, apart from Victor, Rupert, and Arthur, pretty much everyone else had remained silent.
Every now and then, I could feel—and see—some eyes settling on me. But whenever I looked back, their expressions tightened instantly, and they would look away as if that were the most important thing in the world.
Just for context: even though I do spend most of my time outside my room, wandering the hallways, I almost never go up to the higher floors.
Because of that, the scientists and guards who work up there barely know I exist—and I barely know they exist, too. I had never seen those other members of the response team before; judging by the way they carried themselves and the way they moved, they were probably people from the upper levels.
Out of the corner of my eye—or rather, through my abnormal vision—I noticed Arthur. He was sitting to my right, fairly close, still holding his cane and wearing his signature monocle.
He spun the cane with a slow, almost absentminded motion, while his eyes stayed fixed on the outside, where the storm pushed forward in restless bursts.
I watched him for a few seconds, paying attention to his posture, before sending my thoughts his way: (What are you thinking about so seriously?)
As soon as my question reached him, Arthur stopped the rhythmic motion of the cane. He turned his face toward me and stared for a few seconds, as if weighing every word before answering.
When he finally seemed to wrap up his thoughts, he smiled—an ironic, subtle smile, almost hidden, but noticeable to anyone really watching him.
“You know something, young lady?” Arthur began, his eyes locked on mine with an almost sharp curiosity: “According to my theories, there is an entity... a presence that gave rise to everything. And that includes you—the virtues”
He paused his own speech for a moment, his eyes returning to the window. Outside, nothing had changed: the storm remained steady, the sky black as ink, heavy as if it might collapse at any moment. I glanced outside as well, and then Arthur continued—but I didn’t turn to face him; I just listened: “Even from a religious standpoint, everything needed a beginning. Before the beginning, there was “nothing” and from nothing, everything was created. Including you, who uphold the rules that sustain reality itself. And yet...”
He stopped again, as if carefully assembling each thought. When he finally spoke once more, his voice carried a soft hint of melancholy: “What is the purpose of creating humans, anyway? Why did the Creator make us? Gave us thoughts, beliefs, responsibilities... the chance to fight against our own fate, only for everything to end in death?”
Arthur smiled again—an ironic smile, but oddly warm: “Not that someone like you—an ageless, immortal being who sees the flow of time like someone watching a river—could ever understand what it feels like to be... well, just a mortal”
I couldn’t understand what Arthur really meant by all those words. Was he expecting something from me? Was he jealous? Why unload all that so suddenly? What made him think that way?
Driven by curiosity, I asked: (So... you hate life? You hate... living?)
My voice came out clearly curious—not sad, not solemn—just curious, like a child asking their parent why they can’t do something.
When Arthur heard my apparently innocent question, he let out a faint smirk—one of those amused little smiles he usually hid: “Is that how it sounded to you?” he asked.
I nodded silently, and he continued, tilting his head slightly as if weighing his own words: “Hate living? No... definitely not. Living means everything to humans. Even if it’s short, fleeting... maybe precisely because it’s fleeting, we’re able to see so much beauty in such a small amount of time. I think it’s that transience—that chance to touch the world for an instant and recognize what’s beautiful in it—that makes everything... human”
I had absolutely no idea what to say to Arthur after hearing that. So, without thinking much, I let the first thing that crossed my mind slip out: (Sounds pretty... philosophical?) The moment the words left me, I regretted them. The phrase sounded strange even to me.
Arthur, on the other hand, just smiled softly. He didn’t say anything else after that; he stayed there, still, with that calm smile, as if a flood of new thoughts was filling his mind. I stayed silent as well.
Outside, the weather remained stormy, with clouds so dense and dark they seemed to swallow the entire horizon. Down below, the sea churned in short, restless waves, as if reacting to something unseen.
There was, however, something I hadn’t told anyone—something I had noticed ever since we crossed a certain part of the ocean. Every now and then, I saw colossal shadows moving beneath the water... and others, just as vast, gliding across the gray sky above, hidden among the heavy clouds.